


Leather, Silk and Cotton

by Cordelia_Sun



Category: Farscape
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), A very rare instance of kindness to Crichton, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathtub Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Porn Battle, Season/Series 04, Shameless Smut, Shippy, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Sun/pseuds/Cordelia_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their reconciliation, John and Aeryn take every opportunity they can to get close again. It's not easy, but it's worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leather

**Author's Note:**

> Written for livejournal comm GameOfCards phase 4 porn battle.
> 
> Originally this was meant to be three separate smutfics for three separate prompts, but I think they work better posted together.
> 
> So...smut in three flavours. With pictures! No, not _those_ kind of pictures...for frell's sake! Sheesh....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: _"We were built to fall apart, then fall back together"_ from 'Out of the Woods' by Taylor Swift

 

 

 

They meet in secret in a sliver of stolen time.

Aeryn follows John's quirky little tri-colour DRD on a winding journey along Moya’s passages. Her body is taut as fury mixes with anticipation and squeezes into a tight leaden ball in the pit of her stomach. She’s desperate for a space release it; a chance to scream.

The DRD brings her out into an unfamiliar chamber like nothing else she’s seen on Moya. The room is an uneven circle, bathed in silver, and empty but for the sculptural dais at its centre. It reminds her of the foil that blooms up over the pan when they make popcorn, but the comparison is frivolous; it's so much more than that. This is where starburst is born.

John assures her that this place safe. Aeryn doesn’t share the depth of John’s paranoia— doesn’t quite buy-in to his convenient excuses—but she’s not a fool and is still leery of unnecessary risk. But, Pilot confidently backed John's assertion and her trust in Pilot is boundless.

He waits across the chamber; a black and brooding silhouette so out of place in this room of shimmering light. His gaze is sharp and unwavering as he watches her approach. The flat and glassy mask is gone and in its place is a ravening hunger; marked with tension in the press of his lips and the set of his jaw. The silver shimmer of the walls cast stars into the blue of his eyes and, for the first time in a long time, Aeryn knows he can really see her.

They can talk freely, but they don’t.

This is why they came here; to talk. They’ve had only brief snatches of time in Pilot’s den and coded whispers elsewhere. Stolen kisses. He insisted on waiting—until the lakka was out of his system, he said—and, at first, Aeryn went along with it. She stood by and watched him grow increasingly erratic and twitchy until she lost patience with his evasive tactics and demanded that he give her this time.

She's done waiting for him.

Aeryn planned on doing most of the talking; to vent her rage and let him know just what he’d done and how much he had hurt her. She would tell him he had ruined her life and, somehow, that would make everything all right. Standing here now, bathed in the tension that radiates from him in waves, she thinks that if she says all those words he might just shatter.

You can’t cross the same river twice.

He’d told her that once not long after he arrived. It made no sense then, like most things he ever said or did. Aeryn remembers rolling her eyes in exasperation at having to listen to more of his human nonsense, but now she thinks she understands.

An oppressive silence settles between them. She hates the silence. At one time his incessant babble drove her crazy. Then it drove her wild. Now he hardly speaks at all and she misses him _so_ much.

He is encased in leather—pants, boots, jacket, gloves—and she thinks of it now as body armour. Protection. With it comes a careless, dangerous swagger. A maniacal expansiveness that offends the core of her tattered Peacekeeper soul and at the same time makes her want to tear at him with her teeth and do _very_ bad things. She allows herself a thin smile; he was always _so_ illicit.

It dawns on her that there was a language that, when they finally figured it out, they never struggled to understand.

With a small step forward Aeryn reaches up and slides her hand along his shoulder. As she spreads her fingers through the soft brush of his short hair she can track the tension in the muscles in the back of his neck. She pulls him toward her and presses her lips to his.

When he doesn’t respond her stomach clenches. Her mind flashes to another kiss; warm and utterly still. In another life. Not these lips.

_One of these things is not like the other_

In gentle nudges, brushing the tip of her nose against his, she pleads with him to let down the wall and come to her. Their lips meet with light touches—once, twice, three times—before he lets out a heavy breath and the damn breaks. They tumble into each other in a messy, frantic marriage of lips and tongue and teeth. And it tastes like hope.

When they separate Aeryn stares into his eyes and wonders if she looks as hungry as he does.

He raises a hand to her cheek and runs his gloved thumb along the line of her jaw. The leather is soft against her skin and his heat bleeds across the layer of leather between them. She loves how it feels, but is sick of these barriers; what she wants is his warmth and the touch of his flesh.

Aeryn takes his hand and peels away the glove; tugging at the supple leather on each finger until it comes loose. She slides it off and lets it fall to the floor. His eyes don’t leave her face as she runs the pads of her thumbs over the palm of his hand and the length of his fingers; exploring the callouses, joints and knuckles. Aeryn has always loved his hands. Blunt and strong and covered in a light layer of soft hair; his fingers are gentle, nimble and skilled. Tech hands capable of incredible things.

She skins the other glove and presses a soft kiss to his palm. There’s a flash of satisfaction when she catches his eyelids flicker in response.

She releases him, and he moves to tuck his hands in his pockets, but thinks better of it and lets them fall at his sides instead. He rubs the tips of his fingers together in small circular motions and regards her with a small and wary smile.

Aeryn presses her hands flat against his chest and under her palm the pounding of his heart is too fast. A panicked trapped-animal thud. She rubs against the soft fabric of his T-shirt before sliding her hands up and under the jacket; rolling it from his shoulders until it drops to the floor in a heavy thump.

He bows his head and Aeryn leans in to meet him and catch a kiss against his parted lips. John pushes a hand into her hair and she revels in the sensation as he pulls her in close. The fingertips of his other hand tuck under the fabric of her shirt and play lightly against the skin at the small of her back.

She pulls at his shirt, dragging the fabric out of the waistband of his pants, and slips a hand underneath. She wants to explore his warm skin and scrape her nails though the hair at the base of his belly.

John's hand flashes up—wicked fast—and grips her wrist tight. She pulls back in shock to find him with his eyes pressed tight shut and lips twisted into a tense grimace. A bubble of panic wells up in her chest; doesn't he want her? Before she has a chance to speak he shakes his head and digs his teeth into his lip before pressing her hand flat against his torso. He kisses her forehead and, after a few beats, lets go.

Aeryn’s fingers crawl tentatively across his skin in an exploration of flesh, bone and muscle. He’s not as fit as he was a cycle ago—she hasn't been here to push him in his training—but he still feels good under her hands. She can sense him relax against the massage of her fingers and the slow caress of her lips on his neck. He begins to return her touch.

He’s slow at first but soon his hands roam her body and he’s pressing her against him; she can feel how hard he is even through the constraining leather of his pants. They fall to the wall in a jumble of limbs and scramble to keep their balance as he whirls her around and pushes her up against it. She pulls at him; stripping off his T-shirt and belt and her nails rake over the bare skin of his shoulders. She presses her face into his chest and breathes in the warm scent of his skin; she loves his smell.

John pushes at the fabric of her T-shirt, wrenching it up until its bunched under her arms and she leans back, allowing him to envelop her exposed breasts in his palms. The touch is delicious. So warm against her skin. Aeryn scrapes her fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck and pushes his head to her chest. He lavishes wet kisses over her flesh; burying himself between her breasts before drawing a nipple into his mouth and sucking in gentle teasing movements. She shudders as his teeth graze over her sensitive flesh.

He pulls at her pants, tugging at the fastenings until they come loose, and slides his hands under the fabric to slip them over her hips. She’s still wearing her boots and the pants end up tangled and hitched around her calves, but she doesn't care. He pushes a hand into her hair, pulls her close and mashes his lips against hers as his other hand slips between her legs. His fingers run up her inner thigh and press against the delicate flesh of her pussy. Aeryn buries her face in the curve of his neck and clings to him as he caresses her. It’s been so long since she felt any touch but her own and it feels _so_ good.

Not so long for him.

A flash of rage whips through her and she can’t help biting down hard into the flesh of his shoulder. He cries out and leans back searching her eyes with a hurt frown, but he doesn't pull away. She wants to cry out too, but she presses her lips together and swallows the sound.

Their eyes lock for a long moment.

His hands leave her briefly to unfasten his pants and Aeryn watches intently as he releases the fastening and tugs at the zipper. Aeryn reaches in to grasp his cock and it’s thick and hard in her hand. She aches for him. Needs him; is desperate for him to prove that he is hers.

He slips down his pants just enough to free his erection, slides his hands under her backside and lifts her up. Aeryn hitches up her legs and lays her feet flat against the wall. When he pushes his thick body between her spread knees he's hot as presses against her. She quivers with anticipation and as the head of his cock slides against her labia she can tell how slick she is.

When he pushes inside her they share a faint low moan.

She wraps her arms around his neck and they kiss long and slow as he begins hitch his hips and thrust inside her.

It’s an awkward affair. With her ankles bound she struggles to match his rhythm and he in turn battles to hold her weight as he moves. It doesn’t work. They begin to slide inexorably down the wall until they end up in a messy and uncomfortable heap on the floor. Aeryn lets out a howl of frustration and she's hit with sudden shudder of panic that maybe this is all wrong. What if she’s been kidding herself? What if they just don’t work any more?

No. That can't be true.

They untangle and John scrambles to her feet and yanks at the straps of her boots. He pulls them off and flings them across the chamber while Aeryn wriggles out of her top. They each skin out of their pants and underwear. One of Aeryn’s socks comes off with the clothing and she claws at the other and throws it aside. They pause for a panting beat and she looks him over, eyes sliding greedily over his naked body. She grabs him, pulls him on top of her and wraps her legs around him in a possessive clinch. She reaches behind to grasp at him and pull him in.

And suddenly it’s right. Here on the floor. Naked. Stripped of the entanglements, the barriers, the drugs and the lies. They begin to move together in perfect synchronicity. A flowing slow dance of their winding bodies, exploring hands and soft kisses. She relishes his weight, his thick body pressed between her spread thighs and the way he fills her so completely. It's so raw and so exhilarating and as Aeryn arches up against John's body, clawing her nails into his skin, she lets herself cry out.

John runs a hand up the length of her figure; caressing her legs, her belly and her breasts before twisting his fingers into her hair. He fixes his eyes on hers and under his fierce gaze everything falls away. There’s nothing else beyond this moment.

The ball of tension in the pit of her stomach, where she keeps the fury, the hurt and the guilt, begins to melt. A surge of emotion floods over her and she lets go of the pain she's tried so hard to lock away from her heart. She rolls her head back as it floods over her and she screams and shudders around him in long aching waves.

John is quiet when he comes, muffling the small sound he makes against her neck, and Aeryn pulls him to her and sighs. He was never quiet. She holds him close and they exchange slow kisses through panting breaths as they lie together.

After a while they disentangle, collect the clothing within easy reach and sit together on the floor. John leans on his bent knee and chews on his thumb as they share a quiet and thoughtful look charged with all the words they haven't said. His shoulder carries a wicked bite mark and while she didn’t break the skin, Aeryn can see it’s going to bloom into vicious bruise. She rubs it with her thumb and he gives her a rueful smile.

“I think,” she says with a sigh, “that we should talk.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “we should.”


	2. Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1: _"Red wine drip filth talk that trash"_ from 'Partition' by Beyonce

 

 

John potters around command humming a little tune to himself. He’s feeling pretty good.

No, he’s better than good…he’s fan-frelling-tastic.

Scorpy and his little orange groupie have been off ship for a couple of days; gone in search of some master Jedi who might have intel’ on the critter that attacked them on Earth. D'argo, in his captainly capacity, has gone along to keep an eye on them.

The relief of them being gone is palpable and while the cats away the mice have played; he and Aeryn have capitalised on the opportunity to do some serious canoodling. Though, to their mutual frustration, not much else due to the need to keep up the pretense of being apart. Aeryn argued about that, but John is still convinced it’s necessary even without Scorpy on board.

But damn, even arguing with her felt good. She called him stubborn, arrogant and paranoid and when she caught him grinning at her she threatened to break his neck. He told her she was beautiful when she was angry—'cause she really is—kissed her on the tip of her nose and ran away. Fast.

That afternoon Chiana and Grandma announced they were heading off to a commerce planet Pilot detected in the next system. The great dominar, rattled by a slight from the old woman about his negotiating skills, insisted he should go too. Somehow, with no manoeuvring on his part, it’s going to be just him and Aeryn—and Pilot of course—on board for almost an entire solar day.

John can’t believe his luck.

Though, as it turns out, it’s not luck at all. That penny drops when a rather coy looking Pilot appears on the clamshell. He informs him that the crew are out of comms range and his presence is requested at once in Aeryn's quarters. And no he cannot stop by his quarters on the way. Officer Sun was, he insists, very specific about it.

Clearly there are some shenanigans going on here.

John does as he’s told and arrives to find Aeryn’s quarters dimly lit and deserted. He stands in the doorway for a microt feeling more than a little unsure about entering without an explicit invitation. He's never really spent time here; Aeryn guards her personal space fiercely. He didn't even come here when she was gone. It would have felt like an invasion and, besides, it was too damn painful.

He tucks his hands in his pockets and looks around. Her quarters are smaller than his and, to his complete lack of surprise, tidy and well organised. There’s a soft furry covering on the bed as well as the standard gold coloured blanket. Behind the bed there's a half-concealed shelf full of bottles and pots; a mixture of Earth product and local fare. There's a neatly arranged collection of hairbrushes and a large pot filled with hair ties. Girl stuff. Aeryn stuff. He touches a few of the bottles with his fingertips and smiles.

The place is awash with her scent and there are no bad memories here.

"Making yourself comfortable?" her low, smooth voice calls to him from the edge of the room. His eyelids flutter shut for a moment as a shiver ripples down the back of his neck. He marvels at her ability to make three simple words drip with sex and promise.

He turns around and almost bites through his tongue.

“Um…” he says, and she smiles in triumph, flashing a row of perfect teeth. John's eyes track the tip of her tongue as it flicks out light against the soft inner flesh of her lip.

The small amount of blood he has left for powering his brain is just enough to process the details.

She is wearing a dress, which is amazing enough it in itself, but _dress_ doesn’t do justice to this strapless, slinky confection in deep wine red. The fine fabric clings to her skin, detailing the sleek and gentle curves of her slender figure, and John knows, with complete certainty, that she’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath. She’s barefoot and the hem brushes against the floor as she takes slow steps toward him.

“That’s a nice dress,” he says, utterly failing to control the tremor in his voice, “where did you get it?”

“Earth. I was given it for one of those fancy parties they made us go to.” she stops just out of arms reach, “you weren’t there.”

It's a flat statement of fact and there’s no censure in her tone, but that doesn’t stop the guilty clench in his gut. He opens his mouth to speak, but she steps forward and presses the tip of her finger against his lips.

“You’re here now.” She takes his hand and entwines her fingers into his, “do you like it? It is all right, isn't it?”

“It's perfect,” he whispers and runs the back of his fingers over her hip. The fabric is smooth and cool and it feels just like her, “though, you're making me feel kind of under-dressed here.”

She licks her lips and leans back with an appraising gaze. Her expression is serious, but the look is predatory and her eyes hold a mischievous twinkle, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

They stand face to face with only a thin sliver of air separating them until John lifts his hand to stroke his palm up the side of her neck. When he presses his lips against hers he knows he’s kissing a smile. Their lips brush together and their tongues explore with tentative touches. His senses flood with her. Her mouth is so soft and sweet. Her smooth skin so silky and cool under his fingers. Her hair, a subtle scented waterfall of liquid black. She is his everything. His world. And it is wonderful.

She pulls away with a soft gasp and the peaks of her cheeks are touched with pink.

“Come on,” she says and leads him by the hand into her bathing area.

Her bathroom is huge and John is stunned to see that instead of a shower she has a deep round tub in the centre of the room. He shouldn't be; this isn’t that unusual. Moya’s cells vary widely to accommodate the range of species she might expected to carry. Many don’t even have a bathroom. This cell must have been intended for an aquatic species like Rygel. John shudders at the thought that this cell, this tub, might once have been home to the little green gasbag. Nope, his brain does not need to go here.

He shakes the thought away and looks around. The chamber is lined with candles; dozens of them arranged all around and they cast a soft mellow glow around the room. It’s warm and the bath is filled to the brim.

John stands behind Aeryn, wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles into her hair, “you planning on taking a bath?”

Aeryn answers with a slow nod and turns to him with a salacious smile and rubs her hands over his chest. He lets her strip him. As the clothes take a hike she strokes her hands in possessive sweeps over his torso, through the hair at the base of his belly and the scrape of her nails down his flanks ellicits a deep shudder. When she stands she runs her palm, all too briefly, along the length of his rigid cock; pressing it against his belly. She steps back to appraise him with a bold gaze and a lick of her lips. Her eyes linger over his shoulder where a vicious bruise blooms from their last encounter and she rubs at its yellowing edges with a sad smile.

He doesn't want her to be sad and doesn’t mind the bruise. Likes it in fact. It’s a brand; she's stamped him ' _Property of Aeryn Sun'_ and the occasional twinges of pain are a sharp reminder should he ever be tempted to forget it again. He wonders if, after all freaky crap he’s seen out here in the UTs, he's finally turned just a bit kinky. The thought draws a smile, and he decides that, as long as he’s with Aeryn, he can probably live with that.

“I don’t see how this helps with the problem of my being under-dressed,” he whispers in her ear and pulls her against him; growling at the sensation of her silk sheathed body brushing against his erection. His hand slides over the fine silk, skimming the bone of her hip and the flat of her belly, “and I hope there was underwear when you wore this to your party.”

“Oh, I didn’t wear _this_ ,” she says with a derisory snort, “I would never go out in public wrapped up like one of your gaudy Christmas gifts.”

John laughs; that figures. He loves that this is a gift just for him, but he has to concede that it’s not really Aeryn and he doesn’t want her to try to be anyone but herself. Especially not for him.

“So, do I get to unwrap you?”

She treats him to one of her twisted smiles and a little shrug of her shoulder, “if you must.”

He steps behind her and sweeps her hair over her shoulder. His fingers linger for a moment over the skin on the back of her neck as he admires the striking contrast of black hair, white skin and red silk.

He locates the zipper and pulls it down; following its path with his lips he presses fluttering kisses against the perfect pearly skin of her back. He slides his hands under the fabric, cupping her breasts before sweeping down over her ass as the dress slinks down her body. It falls to the floor in a puddle of liquid red.

“Better?” he asks from his knees.

“Much.”

She turns and smiles down at him. Her eyes sweep shut in a slow blink as he runs his tongue over the soft skin of her belly. The tips of his fingers inch slowly between her thighs, but before he can get very far Aeryn pulls him up to his feet and guides him to the tub. He climbs in, swinging his legs over its wide flat rim, with as much grace as he can, which—he has to be honest—isn’t all that much.

A ledge runs around the tub at just the right height to get comfortable and stretch out his legs. The water comes high up around his chest and brims the edge of the bath; sloshing onto the floor as his body displaces the space.  The liquid is wonderfully warm and slippery against his skin.

John realises, with a short laugh, that Aeryn has had a god damn hot tub in her quarters all this time. He allows himself a wry smile as he thinks of all the wasted opportunities.

Well, it’s smaller than a hot tub…that's clear from the way Aeryn’s sleek legs slide against him as she steps into the bath. He watches her as she climbs in, with so much more grace than he managed, and he knows that next to her he's a big clumsy gorilla. She sinks under the water for a moment, sending another surge splashing onto the floor, and plants a kiss on his lips. Then she stands before him in the centre of the bath with the water lapping at her thighs and dripping in beads down her skin. It’s an arresting sight.

His need for her is overwhelming and, without the numbing lakka fog, terrifying. So much desperation mixed with hope and pain and love and shame. It would be too much, but as John gazes up at Aeryn he’s struck by the change in her since they talked; she is so centered and calm. She is his goddess and he knows he can anchor himself to her and ride out any storm.

“I want you,” he says and his voice cracks on the last word.

Aeryn narrows her eyes and bites her lip. She reaches out to cup his face in her hands.

“Say it again,” she demands.

“I want you.”

“Good,” she says and straddles him in a slow fluid movement. She runs a hand into his hair and twists, pulling his head back and leans close to his ear to speak, “I want to hear how much you want me.”

A thrum of lust ripples through him at the sound of her voice and the incredible press of her wet body. He can’t contain the groan that rolls from his throat.

Aeryn smiles in approval and reaches down between her legs. Her fingers slide into his crotch, brushing past his cock, to cup him in her slippery hand. She lifts her other hand to his mouth and pushes her fingers between his lips, hooks them over the teeth of his jaw and pulls his mouth open. She holds his gaze, intent and in control, and it’s impossible to muffle the cries rendered by her fingers as she kneads him; applying light but unrelenting strokes to the skin around his balls and the sensitive flesh of his perineum.

He digs his fingers into the flesh of her thighs and can’t stop the memory of the last time he was so consumed by want and lust. It scares him, but as he clings on to Aeryn’s body he also clings to the certain knowledge that this is different. This is Aeryn. Not perfect, not pure, not even good—by most human standards—but she is his. And she is a bright light in the darkness.

She pulls away, withdrawing her fingers from his mouth and he scrapes them with his teeth and growls in disappointment. He tries to pull her to him, but she resists, lips twitching in amusement, and slides back until John has to wrap his arms around her waist to stop her sliding off his lap. He shudders as she rakes her nails along his flanks and encircles his cock with her fingers.

She starts slow, in long languid full length strokes and firm flicks of the fingers over the glans. Her other hand slides behind his balls and massages the tight skin with her knuckles. John thinks if his brain wasn’t fried before it certainly is now. His nerves are alight and the sensitivity skirts the narrow edge between pain and pleasure until he shakes. She’s so good at this. He throbs with aching tension as she builds up to a ruthless rhythm. She knows just how to drive him to the edge and that's another thing he doesn’t want to think about; so he doesn’t.

John keeps his eyes on her and nothing else in the universe exists.

He would be self-conscious about the noise she’s drawing from him, but frankly he doesn’t give a fuck anymore and the sound he makes when he comes is obscene.

“Fuck,” he grunts and clutches her to him; panting hard against her skin.

She smiles down at him and her face is a mask of absolute gratification; whatever it was she wanted from him, it looks like she got it. He pushes a tendril of black hair behind her ear and pulls her into a kiss that's awash with relief.

“Promise me…” she says through the breathless press of their lips.

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll never push me away again.”

John holds her face in his hands and stares into her eyes.

“I will _never_ push you away again.” He swallows hard and continues, “promise me you’ll stay.”

“I’m going nowhere,” she says.

John nods and wraps his arms around her, lifts her from his lap and slides over to other side of the tub. The movement sends another swell of water rolling over the edge drenching the floor, the piles of clothes and snuffing out half a dozen candles. Aeryn laughs and roll her eyes at him. He sits her down on the ledge, spreads her legs and runs his hands up between her thighs.

They have all night and they’re just getting started.

“Now,” he says, “I think its you turn.”


	3. Cotton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: #3: _"My shirt looks so good, when it's just hanging off your back"_ from 'Sex' by The 1975

 

John wakes slowly, stretching out into a cocoon of warmth and the awareness of Aeryn stirring beside him. The furry bed covering is soft under him and the gold blanket wrapped around his waist and entangled between his legs. He can’t remember the last time he slept so well or woke so rested. Which is ironic considering how little rest he had actually been allowed to get.

Before he can roll over and sweep her into his arms Aeryn climbs out of bed. He's left alone, but he’s not worried; she wont be going far. He tucks his arms behind his head and waits for her to return.

Last night was the best night he’d had in…well…cycles, and not just because of the sex—and, oh god, he’s not discounting the sex! It’s everything. The unbelievable, wonderful, incredible feeling of being able to hold on to the woman he loves. Sleeping with her wrapped up in his arms. Of waking in the middle of the night, finding each other and indulging in amazing, warm sleepy sex before falling back to sleep. It’s was the glorious experience of not just recreating or fucking or frelling, but for the first time in a very, very long time actually making love.

John smiles to himself and wonders if he’s always been such a hopeless sap.

Yeah, probably.

He hears Aeryn return from the bathroom and slits his eyes open to watch her. Her hair is a wild tangled mess, and she’s dressed in a black T-shirt. His T-shirt. It’s loose and _very_ short obscuring the shape of her body, but emphasising her glorious long legs. She looks so damn delicious he could eat her with a spoon. Or without.

She nestles in next to him with her back pressed against his belly and a lot of unnecessary wriggling. He leans over, nuzzles into her neck and tugs at the sleeve of the shirt.

“This is my T-shirt,” he says as his fingers play under the fabric.

“What does the label say?” she murmurs and small smile dances on her lips.

“It doesn’t have a label.”

She rolls over onto her back and grins at him, “then it’s not yours.”

John growls and tickles her ribs and she screams and writhes against him. Her legs kick and flail until he stops and bends in for a kiss and buries a hand into that mop of wild hair. She tastes so sweet, dentik fresh, he could kiss her forever. He’s not even kidding; he never wants to stop kissing her, but there’s the unfortunate question of needing to breathe, and eat and…oh yes, needing to pee.

He pulls away and grins at her; in a flash of cheeky bravado he pulls at the neck of the shirt and peeks down it, getting a good view of her naked body. Aeryn permits his perversion with an indulgent smile and runs her eyes over his own naked form.

He gets up on his hands and knees, climbs over her and plants a light kiss on her lips.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says and shuffles down, trailing butterfly kisses against her neck, then her thighs and her feet.

“Don’t move.” He instructs in his most commanding tone. Aeryn treats him to an amused brow lift and answers with pursed lips and a shake of the head.

In the bathroom he pops a dentik in his mouth while he attends to his needs. The room is a mess; candles everywhere, puddles of water on the floor and half a dozen heaps of clothing strewn around the place. The DRDs are gonna have fun cleaning this up. As he leaves he notices the pile of clothes that belong to him. The pants, boots and..yes, the T-shirt. Right where he left it. Well, where Aeryn flung it.

So if she’s not wearing the one he arrived in, what was she wearing?

When he gets back she's kneeling on the bed and brushing the tangles out of her hair. John watches her for a moment; drinking in the view as she sweeps the brush through her long tresses until they flow, smooth and sleek, across her shoulders. He knows she’s aware of him looking; she’s always aware. She twists around and flashes him a small smile before leaning over on her hands and knees to drop the brush back in its place behind the bed. As she stretches the T-shirt rides up over her hips and John gets a view that makes him go weak at the knees.

He cant help himself. With a complete disregard for his life and physical well-being he climbs on to the bed and gives her a ringing slap on the backside.

“I told you not to move,” he says as he winces at the sting in his palm. It occurs to him he _may_ have gone a bit too far.

Aeryn shrieks and clings onto the headboard and when she looks around, wide-eyed with shock, he grins and bites his lip, waiting for the inevitable retaliation.

“What the _frell_ do you think you’re doing?” she demands, reaching back to rub at the now blushing pink area.

“It was calling to me,” he pleads, “I couldn’t help myself!”

Aeryn purses her lips and leaps at him, attempting to wrestle him on to the bed, but he’s ready for her and miraculously gets the upper hand. She’s quicker and more agile than he is, but he has a size advantage and he presses it thoroughly. Just the way she taught him; she should be _proud_. Soon he has her pinned down on the bed with her arms held back and her legs spread wide as he kneels up between her thighs.

She glowers at him and wraps her legs tight around his back. She could overcome him if she wanted; one squeeze from those thighs could crack a couple of ribs easy. But she doesn't, so he figures he's off the hook. He leans in to kiss her and she relents and responds with soft sigh. He dips his head a little and tugs at the T-shirt with his teeth.

“This,” he says through his clenched teeth and a mouth full of cotton, “is not the shirt I came with.”

She shifts under him, suddenly uncomfortable under his grip.

“No,” she says, refusing to look him in the eye.

He raises a brow and tugs on the fabric; insisting on an explanation.

“I took it...from the laundry.”

He spits out the fabric.

“Why?”

“It…” she bites her lip, “it smelled of you.”

“Oh,” he says and Aeryn gives him a rueful smile and a little shrug of her shoulder.

Suddenly he feels like a complete asshole.

“I am _so_ sorry,” he says.

She nods once, but says nothing.

John lets go of her wrist and cups her cheek, rubbing the soft skin under his palm. When he presses his lips to hers she wraps an arm around his neck and kisses him back. He wonders how long it’s going to be before they stop stepping on landmines that explode in their faces; reminding them of everything past. Pouring salt into stinging wounds.

He lies at her side and and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. He realises that he’s starving; they haven’t eaten since last night and they've expended a lot of energy since then. He doesn’t want this to end, but maybe the moment has passed.

“You know,” he says, “I'm kinda hungry. Maybe we should go get something to eat.”

“No,” says Aeryn and a smile blooms on her face.

“No?”

She shakes her head, jumps up and leans over the edge of the bed rummaging around for something underneath. John wisely keeps his hands to himself. When she comes up she’s holding a box; one of the sealed containers from the food stores.

“You brought food?”

This was a surprise. Aeryn did not approve of hoarding food in private quarters.

She nods and opens the box, displaying an array of tasty morsels; the little spiced fruit pastries that Chiana makes, prossi fruit and a bottle of their precious and limited stock of chocolate milk. Aeryn looks up at him with a triumphant grin.

“You really planned this out, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she beams at him, “I take it you approve?”

He answers her with a kiss, grabs the chocolate milk and takes a long drink before sharing it with Aeryn. They sit up in bed, sharing the food, and talk for a while about nothing much and everything. It’s so normal and comfortable that John can’t quite believe it’s real.

Aeryn allows him to feed her the last of the fruit and smiles when the juice dribbles down her chin. She goes to wipe it, but John stops her and leans forward to lick it away, which soon turns into a deep warm kiss.

He’s still ravenous and not for food this time.

John plasters kisses over her cheeks, the line of her jaw and the curve of her neck, nuzzling into her shoulder as they sink onto the bed. He kisses her over the fabric of the T-shirt travelling down until he reaches skin. When he looks up she's smiling, relaxed and amused, and gives him a slight raise of her eyebrows; inviting him to continue. He shifts to his knees and pushes the T-shirt up so he can run his lips over the delicate skin of her belly and his fingertips graze the tender skin of her waist. He immerses himself in her soft vanilla musk, touched lightly with leather and a hint of salt; redolent of sex.

She squirms as he runs his tongue along the line of her ribs. The tantalising taste of her skin mingles with the lingering suggestion of chocolate milk on his lips. She doesn't just look delicious.

He gently pushes her legs apart and sweeps his hand between them. Aeryn's breath hitches as his fingertips slide over her slick skin; he slips inside and she’s so warm and tight and wet around his fingers. As his fingers glide deep inside her slick soft pussy he lavishes wet licking kisses over her belly and hips and thighs. Aeryn squirms and clutches at the hem of the T-shirt; pulling and twisting it her clenched fists.

He adjusts his position and dips his head to kiss her thighs. When she writhes and bucks her hips he knows what she wants and is delighted to oblige. He flicks the tip of his tongue lightly over her clit and smiles in satisfaction when she squeals and wriggles in response.

“Tickles!” she gasps and he grins and scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He waits for her to relax again before he lets his tongue lap at her in light licks, brushing against the delicate flesh; teasing her and drawing out little soft gasps and jerks and moans. When he presses his mouth to her and draws at the flesh in a long sucking motion she lets out a deep surprise-tinted cry.

He senses her hand on his thigh and her cool fingers make their way slowly up his leg with gentle presses against his flesh. Short nails rake over his skin eliciting a soft scritching sound through his hair and suddenly it’s very hard to concentrate. The hand reaches his cock and runs along it until it throbs. His breath comes heavy against her skin as he nuzzles between her legs.

John shuffles down, eager to improve the access, and clutches at her thighs as she takes his cock in her hand and strokes him. Her thumb catches a wet droplet from the tip and she expertly swirls it around the glans, the slight wetness sets his nerves alight.

Damn.

He’s…kinda forgotten what he was doing.

She shuffles under him, pushing his legs and his body into a stretched out position at her side, until he can sense her breath warm against his cock. The next time he presses his tongue to her pussy she runs hers along the length of his shaft before pulling him deep into her mouth. He buries his face against her skin as his fingers dig in to her flesh; he has _got_ to get some control.

If this is a competition then there’s a good chance he’s gonna lose because the more excited she gets the more she moans and laps and sucks at his cock until he thinks his brain is going to melt. But when she presses twisting, grasping fingers into the hair on the back of his head he knows she’s close. He might win after all.

Whatever the hell that means.

When she comes her cries are muffled and the low guttural moans send wet vibrations along his cock. She arches against him and pulls him deep into her throat; he almost loses it right there and then, but in an epic feat of self-control he reigns it in.

Besides, he doesn’t want to finish this way. They don’t have much longer before they return to their charade and he wants to make love to her one more time.

Aeryn obviously has ideas of her own because she pushes him onto his back and climbs up to straddle his hips. She gazes down at him, soft eyed and smiling and spreads her fingers over his chest. She is insanely wet, slick and slippery all the way down her thighs, and the press of her damp skin against his hips is astonishing. When she reaches down and guides him inside her face is a mask of bliss. His must be too because she feels frelling amazing.

He pulls her into his arms and presses a kiss to her lips.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” she beams at him and pushes back and starts to roll her hips against him.

Aeryn strips off the T-shirt and throws it aside. She looks stunning as she arches back with her hands pushed into her hair. The pale skin of her beautiful stretched out figure is flushed with pink. John's hands roam her body; caressing her skin wherever he can reach. He wants to remember every second if this. Every movement, every sound, every inch of flesh. He palms her breasts teasing her nipples into hard points as she tips her head back and moans in appreciation.

John groans at the pulse of her muscles, clinching tight around his cock, as she rocks and grinds her pelvis against him. He senses her building climax, the rising tension, in the flesh under his hands and she fixes him with a gaze that burns with intensity.

When she shudders against him she throws her head forward letting a waterfall of jet black hair brush over his chest. He pulls her down and holds her in a firm embrace while she rolls and cries out; scraping her teeth over his chest. She lets out ragged gasps as he bucks his hips under her, thrusting into her, until lets himself go. He comes with his lips touching oh-so-lightly against hers and staring deep into her eyes.

She slides off him and settles into his arms. Her head rests on his chest and one leg drapes over him in a possessive clinch. They lie together in silence for a long time; sharing caresses and occasional kisses.

Too soon the outside world interrupts.

“Officer Sun, Commander Crichton,” Pilot’s voice calls over the comm “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“No problem Pilot,” John answers, “anything for you man.”

“What is it Pilot?” asks Aeryn.

“Rygel and the other’s are on their way back,” he says, “they will arrive in two arns.”

John and Aeryn share a sigh.

“Thanks Pilot,” says John and looks down at Aeryn, “looks like playtime’s over.”

She looks thoughtful for a moment, “We _do_ still have two arns.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at him and a wide smile spreads across her face.

“Are you serious?” John laughs and pulls her into him.

“I’m always serious, John.”

“I’m only a Human you know,” he says, “we wear out real fast.”

"Don't worry," she says as her hand wanders down his chest, "I’ll be gentle,"

 

***

 

Two arns later John helps unload the groceries from the transport pod. He's trying hard, and failing, to keep little smiles from blooming on his lips. He catches Aeryn’s eyes as she passes by, carrying a crate with Chiana, and the little frisson of joy is electric.

“What are you looking so happy about?” demands Rygel as he floats out of the transport pod on his little throne chair.

“Who me?” John asks.

“Yes you,” says Rygel, “you look even more gormless than usual.”

“Guess that’s just my face.”

“Hmm.” Rygel casts him a sidelong look, his big green eyes flick between him and Aeryn, and a smile quirks in the corner of his mouth, “Humans, Sebacaens your dough faced expressions all look the same to me. But your eyes…your eyes, boy. It's obvious what's going on in that big empty brain of yours.”

Before he can argue Rygel gives John an approving nod and harrumphs before motoring out of the hanger; leaving them with all the work.

John watches him go and rubs at his lips with his fingers. He flicks his gaze over to Aeryn and when she looks up he sees that buckwheat is absolutely right.

He can tell from her eyes she loves him.

And it's wonderful.


End file.
